Rain

"You would have made a rather good Hufflepuff, you know."

He's leaning against the statue of Boris the Bewildered with a practiced sort of ease that reminds you distinctly of Sirius, his hands stuck in the pockets of his robes. There's a funny sort of grin on his face, like he's completely unsurprised by your every move, even as you ignore the jibe and try to push past him to reach the prefects' bathroom. He doesn't move an inch but instead grabs your arm lightly, the grin widening.

"Think I'm trying to get a rise out of you, yeah?" he asks cheerfully as you struggle. His grip is like iron by now. "I'm not, really. Go on, ask me why."

"Shut it, Prewett," you retort instead, whirling around to face him. It's uncomfortable now, with your arm twisted around and his hot breath on your face, but you don't complain.

Prewett's grin is a smirk by now. "Can't tell me apart from my brother?" he asks in an almost playful manner, and you have to remind yourself that you hate him once or twice.

"I can tell you apart just fine. Stop touching me."

And just like that, he's changed the topic. "Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" Prewett remarks offhand, gesturing vaguely to the windows, from which the raging storm can be seen. "Particularly great show of it we had during dinner. Rain's nice."

You wonder what on Earth he's playing at and finally yank your arm out of his grasp. It's sore, too sore. "I mean it, Prewett," you snap back irritably. "One more word—I don't want to have to—"

"Hurt me?" And he's laughing at you, laughing at you, like you knew he would. "Everyone knows you're rubbish at Defense Against the Dark Arts, Narcissa. I'm sure that'll come as a pleasant surprise to your boss when you graduate."

Your insides run cold. He can't know. "Lucius isn't the boss of me," you say stupidly, stalling for him.

He laughs again and plays along. "I wasn't talking about Malfoy, but that's a lie, too, isn't it? Merlin knows you're one to be dominated."

"I am not weak," you insist coolly. The thunder's getting louder now, and the conversation unnerves you. "And I'm perfectly happy with Lucius."

"Didn't you have a thing for Ted Tonks a few years back, before your sister got to him?" Prewett comments casually. "Right uproar that most have caused in that noble and most ancient house of yours. Gideon mentioned something about it once—"

"I did not like Tonks," you splutter indignantly, a furious blush rising in your cheeks. "Like I'd ever take interest in a Mudblood like him."

He interrupts, and you notice that he's still casual in manner. It infuriates you more than words can say. "And here you are, talking to a filthy blood traitor. Really, Narcissa, I'd say you've lowered your standards—"

"Shut up!" Adrenaline pounds through your veins, and you focus, focus, on regaining calm. He's not worth it. He's not worth it.

"I'm not as bad as Gideon, though," he goes on cheerfully. "Thinks the world is divided into the Order and Death Eaters, Gid does. Hates you for all you're worth for that."

Prewett pulls himself up off the statue and starts walking backward, away from you, but you can't move. "I like you, Narcissa," he says, and you hate the way your name sounds on his lips. "Blindest follower I've seen yet but loyal to boot. Trustworthy to anyone on your right side. Keen on sensing people's natures, too, but Andromeda's the obvious Ravenclaw in your family—you'd have made a rather good Hufflepuff, Narcissa," he calls again from the end of the corridor, and then he's gone.

You don't much fancy a bath anymore and try not to think of him when you instead run out into the rain. You accept Lucius's marriage proposal at long last the next day.

It takes five Death Eaters to kill Gideon and Fabian Prewett. You're among them.